


This Sure As Hell Isn't Normal

by vapohreyon



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC, Couch Cuddles, Cuddles, Johnlock Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vapohreyon/pseuds/vapohreyon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a night of getting reprimanded by Lestrade, Sherlock drinks his problems. Waking up still half drunk, he realizes John must've brought him home. His exhaustion causes Sherlock to show his feelings towards John, which he'd rather hide.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Sure As Hell Isn't Normal

Sherlock lay in his bed. Well, John's bed. Which is probably their bed now. Last night might not of been Sherlock's most famous night. Lestrade flipped on Sherlock, and the detective went out for a few drinks. John must've let Sherlock sleep in his room, while he slept in Sherlock's room. Stretching, Sherlock sat up in the blank white bed. John's room was more "professional" in Sherlock's mind. The walls were a soft yellow color, a big window on the right wall. The bedsheets were white, the hardwood floor mimicking the color of a redwood tree. There was a nightstand on the left side of the bed, holding an alarm and a small lamp. On the left wall was his closet. 

Sherlock's feet planted on the floor, and he stumbled over to the closet, putting his hands against the wall, hoping to calm his headache. He opened the doors like it was a passage way to Narnia, and pushed his raven curls out of his face with the back of his hand. There was a simple wardrobe. Jeans, jumpers, and shoes on the bottom. To the far right, there was a bag on a hanger. Sherlock pushed over the clothes and found a uniform. The helmet on the ground, and a piece of fabric that read "WATSON" on the front. Sherlock's eyes dropped realizing John probably looked at that everyday, reminding him of how many in his fleet died. How many of his friends. Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, putting a hand on his forehead. He closed the closet door, and walked down the stairs to the kitchen.

"How out was I?" Sherlock muttered to John, clutching his coffee mug with both hands, afraid he'll drop it from shaking.  
"Dead as a doornail," John smirked. "You caused such a ruckus. Jesus, I thought you were going to kill someone with a broken bottle or something." John giggled (or chuckled. I don't like that word.) and shook his head. Sherlock couldn't help but smile as well. 

Bringing his feet to his chest, John switched the channel over, and over. He set the remote on the arm of the couch, and set his head back. Sherlock grabbed some medicine and a glass of water, hoping to soothe his aching head. He downed the pills and joined John on the couch. John pulled his head up off the back of the couch and smiled at Sherlock, Sherlock was exhausted. His eyes were red and they had dark circles the color of his hair. He kept forcing his eyes open, and almost dropped his glass of water. John caught it, and set it on the table in front of them. 

Once Sherlock couldn't take the exhaustion anymore, he looked at John and leaned on him. Sherlock pulled his legs up on the couch and wrapped his arms around John's, leaning on him and falling asleep. John put his feet down on the ground, since he couldn't really grab his legs anymore.  
"Why am I doing this? " Sherlock let go of John and walked upstairs, muttering "This sure as hell isn't normal.", and leaving John confused on the couch. 

When Sherlock woke up again, it was dawn. The only window he had in his room was facing a brick building not too far off. But it was big enough for him to see what time of day it was. He stumbled downstairs to see John gone. There was a note on the fridge. He had gone to get milk. John had asked Sherlock time after time to get milk. John cleaned up Sherlock's mess, whatever he didn't throw out, John was right behind him. John got the groceries, John paid for anything they needed. The least Sherlock could've done was gotten the milk. 

Opening the door, John was bombarded by a Sherlock. Grabbing him tight, Sherlock dug his face into John's neck.  
"Sherlock, what's wrong? What did you do?" Sherlock grabbed John tighter and muttered, "I'm a dick, and I'm sorry." John rolled his eyes and smiled. He dropped the bag on the floor, and hugged Sherlock back. "It's okay." 

John put away the milk, and sat on the couch. The exact same spot he had when Sherlock slept on him. Well, rested. Sherlock smiled when John sat down, and joined him again. He brought his feet up on the couch, and leaned on John's shoulder. He wrapped his arms around John's and held him.  
John didn't know what Sherlock was doing. Was he going to run off again? He could make a smart ass comment like he usually did. But Sherlock stayed quiet and comfortable. Once Sherlock realized John didn't know what to do, he grabbed the arm he was holding onto, and wrapped it over himself. 

They stayed like that for the rest of the evening. Watching crappy reruns on TV, and enjoying each other's company. At about midnight, Sherlock was starting to get tired again. Stretching, Sherlock unraveled himself and sat up. John stood up, shut off the TV and grabbed the cup on the table. Sherlock grabbed the cup from John and smiled. "I've got it." Sherlock attached his lips to John's, pulling away to put away the glass. John touched his lips, not sure what happened. He shook it off and walked upstairs, leaving Sherlock to do the dishes for once.


End file.
